Say Something
by Jetainia
Summary: John wants Sherlock to come back, to say something. Sherlock eventually comes back in search of John but what will he find waiting for him? Death!fic. Angst, no comfort.


"Please. Don't be...dead." Those words were spoken two weeks ago. On the day that John Watson pleaded with his best friend to live, to not be dead, to not have jumped off the top of St Bart's Hospital. Though it had been two weeks, John Watson was still living in the hope that Sherlock would come back and solve more murders. He still hoped and believed that that day would come. Sooner or later, Sherlock would come back.

"Sherlock, say something. Please, I'm starting to give up on you. Why won't you come back?" He was giving up, moving on. After spending three months waiting for his friend to come back from the dead he started to go outside again. He met Mary, his girlfriend and moved out of Baker Street to live with her. He would occasionally go to Sherlocks grave and ask him to say something, anything. He would say goodbye, I'm leaving now. He would leave but would always come back, just to say thank you for being a friend.

After another three months, John Watson proposed to Mary. She accepted and they began to plan for the wedding. It was to be in a year and a half, to allow enough time to prepare. That was the day that John Watson visited Sherlock and said these words; "I'm sorry, it's too late. I've given up on you. You're never coming back and I realise that now. Goodbye Sherlock. I won't be coming back anymore. This is the end."

Since then, Sherlocks's grave had been overgrown with weeds and no one ever visited the grave of the Consulting Detective. Not even his only friend. Nor his brother or his landlady. John and Mary got married and started their life together. John forgot Sherlock, the only reminder being the occasional sadness. He left his old life of running around and solving cases behind.

Two years after the suicide of Sherlock Holmes there was a visitor to the Holmes manor. A visitor who was tall with curly black hair and a long coat. One that was accepted into the manor without question, perhaps because the doorman had fainted upon seeing the visitor. Mycroft Holmes met with the visitor, after all, who wouldn't say hello to their little brother?

"Ah, Sherlock. Back from the dead I see? How did your little exile from life go, hmmm?"

"Shut up Mycroft, where's John? He's not at Baker Street."

"Baker Street? My dear man get with the times. John doesn't live at Baker Street anymore. He lives with his wife, Mary."

"Wife? John's married? Since when?"

"About a year and a half since you jumped. He's moved on, though it took him awhile."

"I see. Well, must be getting on. So long Mycroft, stop eating so much cake."

It was snowing outside as Sherlock walked to the location of his old friend. 12, Knox Street. Reasonably close to Baker Street but not close enough. Sherlock wanted his short friend at 221B Baker Street to help with the cases that he would inevitably be inundated with upon the announcement of his return.

Upon reaching the house of John and Mary Watson, Sherlock stood outside and watched his friend be happy with his wife. He saw happiness in John, he saw that John no longer needed him. With a sigh, Sherlock walked away. Back to St Bart's. Back to the past, two years in the past. As he stood on the edge of the roof, he once again called John. For old times sake. The phone rang out, John did not answer.

* * *

Sighing and tossing the phone away, Sherlock prepared to once again jump off the roof. This time for real, this time he did not plan to survive.

John awoke to the sound of his phone ringing. He saw the caller ID and groaned, figuring it was Anderson playing a prank. He lay in bed thinking, why would Anderson use Sherlocks phone to call him two years after Sherlock died? Then he remembered a vital piece of information. Sherlocks phone had gone missing a week ago, disappeared from Scotland Yard. He sat up quickly and grabbed his phone. First, he made sure that it was actually Sherlock that had rung. Then, he dialled the number while getting ready to go out.

A second before Sherlock tipped over the side of the roof he felt his phone vibrate. He debated on whether or not he would answer it then decided to at least see who was calling him. It was Mycroft.

"Yes Brother? What is it this time?"

"Don't do it Sherlock, don't jump again."

"Why not Mycroft? I only came back to check on John and he's moved on. He doesn't need me anymore."

"That's where you're wrong. He acts like there's nothing wrong but you can sometimes see the hurt he buries deep inside. He looks happy but he's dead. If you watch him for long enough, and I've watched him for two years, you can see the pain he's going through. Mary doesn't notice, she's too happy to notice someone else's pain, even her husbands. John needs you Sherlock and you need him."

"You're wrong Mycroft, John doesn't need me. He's completely forgotten about me. Still, look after him seeing as I won't be able to anymore."

"Sherlock!" There was no reply, Sherlock had hung up.

While this conversation had been taking place, John had been desperately trying to ring Sherlock. He left the house, walking along the streets dialing the number he remembered from two years ago. Without realising it, he was walking towards St Bart's Hospital. The last place he had seen his friend alive.

* * *

John reached St Bart's and stopped. Looking up at the roof where Sherlock had jumped. As he looked he saw a figure step up onto the ledge. The memories of that terrible day came back in a rush and he knew that he had to stop the person from jumping. For his own sake as well as theirs.

"Hey! You up there! Whatever you're going through, it's not bad enough that you have to kill yourself!"

Sherlock sighed, now he was delusional. He thought he heard Doctor John Watson calling out to him. Telling him to not kill himself. He may as well play along with his mind.

"What do you know of suffering?!" He yelled back at the air.

"My best friend killed himself two years ago! I don't quite know why yet but I do know that the world is a poorer place without him. His death devastated me but I'm still alive aren't I? I'll admit, I came close to suicide but I lived on and so should you!"

"Well my best friend, my only friend, has left me behind and forgotten about me! Why would I want to live when the only person I care about has forgotten me?"

"I guarantee that your friend has not forgotten you! They may have moved on but they'll still be hurting inside wondering where you are and whether or not you're alive and well."

"You're wrong. He doesn't care anymore. He's moved on, completely. No turning back."

John was now in tears. The day of Sherlocks suicide was coming back to him in full force. "Please." One word. The magic word. A word that can tear down nations or open a tomb. Sherlock heard it, and ignored it. He was no longer going to be ruled by his mind. He jumped.

John watched as the figure jumped. There was something familiar about them. Then he realised, the coat, it was Sherlock's. "Sherlock!"

* * *

The world went into slow motion. John started running. Sherlock realised it was John and tried to arrest his momentum. The fall seemed to last two years, the amount of time that the two friends had been apart. Then Sherlock's body hit the ground for the second time. And John was once again broken into a million pieces.

* * *

John ran to his friend once more. Already in tears. Already knowing the truth. Already planning his next move. He fell down at Sherlock's side.

* * *

John looked up at the roof. Preparing himself. He stood up and started to walk towards the hospital. Ready to finally follow his friend and leave his wife and the pain behind. Sherlock may have only been his friend, Mary may have been his wife but adventure was his passion. Living with Mary was not an adventure, following Sherlock was. He chose adventure.

* * *

Mary woke, feeling the absence of her husband. She felt a sharp pain in her chest as if someone had died. Perhaps even two people it was that strong.

* * *

The next morning there was a crowd gathered around the St Bart's Hospital. A police line was set up and Greg Lestrade was called in. He sighed when he saw who was on the ground, dead. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, facing the adventure of the afterlife as a team.

 _ **Say something...**_

 **A/N: The line breaks that can be found in this fic indicate where the lyrics would be. You can find a version that contains lyrics on Archive of Our Own under the same name. The version of the song Say Something that I used while writing this was performed by Pentatonix and you can find it on YouTube.**


End file.
